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Articles by Metta Sáma
Pick Up Your Feelings (after Jazmine Sullivan)
By Nandi Comer They call. They message. Then the occasional tag on social media. I am wanting to check in on you… We are thinking of you… I am so so sorry… Then there I go again pounding my head sifting through thick air scattering names on a dusty floor It is morning. It is the afternoon, maybe the middle of some God-awful hour. I was calm. I was hunkered low, shades drawn maybe sipping a tea.
"Fish & Duck Skills" by Metta Sáma
Sometimes it pays to go to Bojangles. To drive out of the parking lot, see the red awning: Fish & Duck Skills. A man walks out and it is broad daylight. Back when I was a new adult in Chattanooga I’d dare myself to go to the Adult Book Shop on Market Street in the daytime or to the gasoline station that my parents frequented, the one close to our old house, where pornography was stored in plastic. Back then I only dreamt in violence. & living was an act of deliberate volatility.
Fish & Duck Skills
Fish & Duck Skills - Sometimes it pays to go to Bojangles. To drive
we are washed of language
“This was all recorded . . . [l]ike a Song . .
the men have brought escape
the men have brought escape they train us to plant seeds in the darkest parts of the forest where Leader never trespasses Leader calls this action reverence in the darkest parts of the forest the men rename Leader’s reverence fear the men have brought escape and trained us to cultivate the seeds until they flower flush pink hooded purples clusters of white bright green plants with devil red nibs deathly black on the end bright green leaves with even greener apples weighing the branches down...
A Poem for Better Times: We Arrived as Witness
We arrived again. An indeterminable number of arrivals. We arrived as witness as salvation as storm. We arrived as storm as thunder as the closed sky before rainfall. We arrived as hunter as loaded rifle as the body that sharpens and strokes. What Leader took from us we scorched from our minds. Every syllable of love every uttered phrase of hope. Our pasts a city under siege a neighborhood torched. We flame throwers we bomb builders we cloaked soldiers light the night.
A Very Brief History of Police Killings in the U.S.
Fists v Guns v Knives v Guns v Mouthy Mouths v Guns v Cellphones v Guns v Keys v Guns: A Very Brief History of Police Killings in the U.S., beginning with Bloody Christmas & ending with The Counted [Daniel] Rodela, a 23-year-old, 114-pound meter reader for the [Los Angeles] Gas Co. “resisted arrest,” so the officers beat him mercilessly in front of his family, then handcuffed and dragged him by his hair into the police car.
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